


Three's Company

by swordznsorcery



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 22:33:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7193588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swordznsorcery/pseuds/swordznsorcery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the 50th anniversary. Eleven, River, Jack, and a lot of Daleks. Also dancing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three's Company

  
Three's Company  


 

"A thousand Daleks? 'Come visiting, Jack. It'll be fun. You, me, the Doctor.' I should have known better." Jack Harkness stood on the hilltop, his dark blue coat blowing around his legs. "A _thousand_ Daleks?"

"Oh, give over. We eat Daleks for breakfast, you and me. Well, not literally, obviously. That would be revolting." The Doctor stood behind him, all manic energy, his eyes almost completely obscured by the brim of his sombrero. "A thousand's only ten hundred. That's not all that much."

"Actually it is quite a lot." River Song, a gleam in her eyes to match the breaking starlight, slid an arm through Jack's. "You enjoy the challenge, Harkness. Admit it."

"I enjoy the company," he conceded, and flashed her a smile. A second later, sliding between them with a speed and fluidity that was remarkable in a man wearing a hat with a three foot brim, the Doctor was nudging them apart.

"Yes, well. Enough of that, thank you. And anyway, lots or not, what does it matter? It's us! You, and me, and you. Three's good. Three's a nice number. I like three. And yes, there's a thousand of them, but it's not a _good_ thousand, is it. It's not like they're friends. It's not like they can turn to each other and say 'Remember that time on Phylos III, with the monkey god and that _thing_ with all the arms?' They're a rubbish thousand. And not a sombrero amongst them. Amateurs."

"Yeah." Jack turned to look at him, eyes lingering over every inch of the hat. "I was meaning to ask about that."

"Good, isn't it." Hands in pockets, excitement rising again, the Doctor gave his head a waggle. "I was thinking, what's a good thing to have when you get into trouble? Aside from a good friend or two, and a nice cup of tea at the end of it?"

"The answer can't be a sombrero." River's expression was fond, but faintly despairing. "I'm sorry, but it can't."

"Well not as such, no. But a quick getaway; that's invaluable. A personal helicopter, that's what you want. Flick a switch, the brim starts rotating, and then quick as a flash you're out of danger. Slight risk of having your head torn clean off, but I can probably fix that. We could each have one."

"Thanks, Doc, but I think I'd rather have the danger." His brief smile soon fading, Jack looked away again, back over to the blue glow in the valley, where the Daleks were hard at work. "And speaking of which, does anybody have any ideas?"

"I like the one where we send you in to ask what they're up to," said River. "Worked nicely last time."

"Oh?" The Doctor's eyes narrowed. "Have you two been having adventures without me? I'm not sure that's allowed."

"You have plenty without us," pointed out Jack. "Anyway, it wasn't an adventure as such. And that was different. They were humans, more or less. They thought shooting me would do the trick. The Daleks know who I am."

"And besides, with the best will in the world, one Jack isn't going to be much of a distraction for a thousand Daleks. We need something bigger." The Doctor was frowning with a ferocious intensity, his face the very picture of a seriousness that the sombrero was doing its best to undermine. "What have we got? We've got the sonic screwdriver, we've got the TARDIS, we've got two vortex manipulators, and four Dalek saucers. That's good, right? We've all fought battles with a lot less than that."

"We could sabotage the saucers," suggested River, with more than a touch of grim satisfaction. "Shouldn't be too hard. Jack and I can teleport in. They'd be far less likely to detect us than the TARDIS."

"We'll give you a lift," offered Jack, the prospect of action having clearly rejuvenated his spirits. "We could make a Doctor sandwich."

"I'm game," piped up River immediately. The Doctor looked sour.

"That's no way to travel. Bouncing around like cosmic pinball. It makes my eyeballs vibrate. Anyway, blowing their ships up is only any use if they're planning to get into them. They're building something. I think they're intending to stay." He pulled out his sonic screwdriver, and waved it rather vaguely in the air. "Hmm. Nasty suspicions. I don't like it when I get nasty suspicions. It makes my neck prickle. And since my suspicions are invariably right..." He pulled off the sombrero suddenly, the playfulness leaving him in an instant, his entire bearing altered. "High traces of radioactive compounds, along with obvious stockpiles of ventrium gas, vulcanium, and liquid dareon. Which all adds up to what, Jack?"

"Vastly powerful rocket fuel." Jack's demeanour had changed too, and he had snapped to attention the moment the Doctor's focus had narrowed. "You think they're planning on converting this planet. Flying it somewhere?"

"That's a pretty unlikely plan," said River, turning to stare down toward the flickers of light that marked the enemy stronghold. "You really think that's what they're up to?"

"It's not without precedent." There was a hint of a growl in the Doctor's voice. "Besides, those are the ingredients for rocket fuel. Spectacularly powerful rocket fuel. And for what? The Daleks don't use rockets. They don't need them. There's only one thing here that needs that much lift, and we're standing on it. Question is, why would they want to fly about in a planet? Why would anybody want to fly about in a planet? It is sort of cool, in an evil megalomaniac kind of way, but Daleks don't do cool."

"Sadly true." River's eyes met his, bright with sudden ideas. "Unless..."

"Yes, exactly. Unless?"

"The peace talks on Irizon. The alliance that's likely to grow out of that will bring this whole section of space together. It could feasibly be a threat even to the Daleks. The security operation at a get-together like that would be massive, so they'd need extraordinary measures to get through."

"And the Dalek fleet isn't strong enough to take it on directly. Not right now." Jack cracked a faint smile. "Not since their last run in with you know who."

"Precisely." Attention now fixed upon his sonic screwdriver, as he waved it to-and-fro, the Doctor was clearly thinking in several directions at once. "Right now the Daleks don't have the manpower – or Dalekpower – for a frontal assault, and anything that looks remotely like a weapon will be annihilated before it gets anywhere near a delegate. I think this is the Dalek equivalent of looking for a back door."

"Yes, but..." River was frowning now, her eyes no longer quite so wide and bright. "Without wanting to seem too picky, isn't a giant, rogue planet being piloted through space just the kind of thing that might set off a few alarms?"

"Eventually, yes. This is Lentos II. Super heavy core, high concentration of ultra-heavy metals. The gravitational pull of something this massive will throw out every sensor in the sector, and cause all manner of disruption besides. Even once they know what's going on, I doubt they'll be in a position to deal with it. An asteroid is one thing, but if you blow up an approaching planet, you'd likely kill yourself with the debris. Hmm. It's ambitious thinking, I'll give them that. Riddled with basic planning errors, but then that's Daleks for you. No imagination. Precious little forethought." His eyes narrowed to hard, determined slits. "No consideration for the lives destroyed as collateral damage. There's a three foot long crustacean on this planet, with twenty-six pairs of legs that all glow in the dark in different colours. Nobody's going to send that spinning off to certain death in outer space. Right. Plan B it is."

"There was a Plan A?" asked River. The Doctor nodded.

"Send Jack in to ask what they're up to, while we sneak in round the back," he told her, then shrugged at Jack's glare. "You're a useful asset. Be proud of that. Join hands everybody."

"Where are we heading for?" asked Jack, reaching for the controls of his wrist-strap. The Doctor shook his head.

"Leave it. Programmed it already." He waggled the sonic screwdriver by way of illustration. "Hold hands, close your eyes, make a wish, whatever. I'll drive. Ready?"

"I'd kind of like to know what for." Drawing his revolver, despite its catastrophic inadequacy against even one Dalek, Jack took hold of the Doctor's hand. River took the other, and offered both men a small smile.

"Ordinarily I'd be enjoying this."

"There's always afterwards," shot back Jack. The Doctor rolled his eyes.

"It's like being stuck between a pair of teenagers. Get ready." All three of them tensed, preparing for whatever might be about to happen. A second later, with a short burst of light from the screwdriver, the trio stuttered and warped for a moment, then vanished altogether.

**********

"Ow," grumbled the Doctor, almost immediately. "Cosmic pinball. Honestly, I don't know how you people put up with it."

"Given that somebody deactivated mine a while back, I quite enjoyed the novelty." Jack looked around. "A Dalek saucer's engine room? Sabotage after all?"

"Of a sort." The Doctor was surveying the scene before them. The place was empty. He had theorised that all the Daleks would be busy on the work outside, and for now at least it appeared that he was right. "River, find the main computer. There's usually a central unit that oversees all the engine room functions. Break into it. I'll need full control. Jack, you've got the fun bit."

"Why don't I believe that there's going to be any actual fun?"

"Because you're horribly paranoid. Find the power cells. Big, red, glowy things. You need to siphon off a little of the power, but not so much that the Daleks notice. Redirect it to the communications array, preferably without melting anything."

"You do realise I can't do that without going into the power core, right? And that I can't do that without being incinerated?"

"True. But what's a little incineration between friends?" For the second time in as many minutes, the Doctor's smile disappeared into seriousness. "I'm counting on you, Jack."

"It's done." The captain snapped to attention once again, and was gone, striding away into the bowels of the engine room. For a moment the Doctor's smile was reborn.

"I like this. The three of us working together. I don't usually get companions this well qualified."

"Don't get too used to it." River's hand drifted across his shoulder, the gesture fond, and perhaps a touch wistful. "The problem with being highly qualified is that you don't want to be just a companion. What are you going to be doing?"

"Knitting spaghetti." With a very unscientific kick to a console, the Doctor dislodged a hatchway, unleashing a tumble of complicated wiring. "Get busy. We don't want to be discovered before we've finished."

"I'd rather not be discovered afterwards, either." Clearly taking his point to heart, River hurried away. Left alone, the Doctor hummed a quiet song as he worked, hands twisting and looping the wires in patterns that only he could hope to understand. He was still busy with the task when Jack returned, his coat and trousers smoking slightly, and his boots distinctly misshapen.

"I wish my clothes were fixed points in time too. I seem to lose them every time we get together. And not in a good way."

"They gave their lives for the greater good. Anyway, there's plenty on the TARDIS. Ask her, she always keeps something in your size." The Doctor looked Jack over for a moment. "You look a bit singed around the edges. Are you okay?"

"I'm always okay. I've made a career out of it." Crouching down opposite his old friend, Jack nodded at the wires. "Can I help?"

"Check on River. And thanks, Jack. If I could have done that power cell thing instead—"

"I know." Still smouldering gently, Jack headed off in search of River. Forging the last few connections amidst his tangle of electric spaghetti, the Doctor was unaware of their return, until River's fingers threaded themselves through his hair.

"Hi honey, I'm home." She crouched down beside him, frowning at the tangled mass of wiring. "What the hell?"

"Never mind. Just set your vortex manipulator for the TARDIS. Both of you. Make sure your co-ordinates match. Also, keep your eyes open. Being exterminated when we're this close would be just plain embarrassing."

"It's okay, Doc. I've got your back." Gun once again in his hand, Jack was standing guard. "Seems pretty quiet, though. It's almost a shame."

"And this from somebody who was sulking about being brought here," teased River. She had her own gun drawn, a large laser pistol that, for all its technological superiority over Jack's Webley, was as useless as it was against a Dalek. "Says no and means yes. Just like a man."

"You gotta get my adrenalin going first," he told her, and a loud sigh came from behind them.

"Do I have to physically put myself between you two? And no, I did not mean that like you're both thinking. I meant... oh, never mind." Suddenly the Doctor was, indeed, between the two of them. "I've finished. Let's get out of here before _I_ exterminate you."

"You wouldn't have us any other way," teased River. He took her hand.

"Maybe not. But I am beginning to realise why I've never suggested that we make this arrangement permanent." He grabbed hold of Jack's hand as well. "And stop smouldering. You look like a bad visual pun."

"Sorry." Jack looked past the Time Lord to River. "Ready?"

"Always." Their eyes locked, and on a signal that neither of them gave, they activated the manipulators. Again there was that instant of bending, of warping – as though they were forcing themselves between the layers of space-time. A heartbeat later, and the TARDIS was there to greet them. The Doctor gave her a welcoming pat.

"Now _this_ is a proper means of transport," he told them, unlocking the door and leading the way inside. The console room hummed a welcome, and the Doctor crossed over to the scanner screen, calling up a view of the Dalek horde.

"So what exactly did we just do in that ship?" asked Jack. The Doctor flashed him a cheerful smile.

"Oh, you know. This. That. Thing is, a job like this is mostly heavy lifting, welding, that sort of thing. Plus there's effectively a kamikaze mission at the end of it. Those aren't what you'd call high grade Daleks out there. They're worker drones, probably bred especially for this mission. Daleks, yes, but without the optional extras. Entry level Daleks. The basic, economy model."

"And?" pressed River gently, causing his smile to grow.

"Well. All it takes is some fiendish plotting from the right sort of brain – and wouldn't I make a brilliant evil genius, while we're on the subject? – and it's not too hard to work a little scientific magic."

"Isn't that a contradiction in terms?" asked River. The Doctor vanished beneath the console, sonic screwdriver aglow.

"It's all a matter of semantics. Re-route me the main communications lead through to this station, could you? And Jack, take us up. We need to materialise about twenty-five feet above our friends out there, when I give the signal."

"Twenty-five feet above a thousand Daleks?" River's eyebrows rose in typically restrained alarm. "That doesn't sound very safe."

"No, it doesn't, does it. Necessary though. Communications lead, River. Quick, quick. A thousand specially bred Daleks can get their mission accomplished pretty quickly, you know, and we can't say for sure when they started. Jack?"

"Dematerialising as we speak." The familiar sound of the TARDIS echoed around the room, and River hurried to her task. It was the work of seconds to do as the Doctor had asked, and a few moments later, in a shower of multicoloured sparks, the Time Lord emerged from beneath the console. His bow tie was askew, and he was frowning.

"I left my sombrero behind," he said. "That's a shame. I think I should be wearing a hat right now. Hats create the right impression. You can say a lot with a hat."

"I don't think that hat was saying quite what you'd hoped it would." River gestured towards the still sparking lash-up beneath the console. "You did mention something about a hurry."

"I did, didn't I. Right. Yes. Jack, get ready to materialise." The Doctor grabbed hold of a pair of wires, his screwdriver in the other hand, and one foot braced firmly against the console. "Okay. This bit could get slightly tricky. I don't want you to worry, but it is altogether possible that the combined firepower of a thousand Daleks might be a bit much for the shielding. It's also possible that my plan could go completely wrong, and we'll explode. Well, when I say we, technically I mean the TARDIS, but at any rate it won't be much fun for us. And I'm talking too much, aren't I. Sorry, bad habit. Jack – materialise." The wheezing, groaning sound once again filled the room and, on the screen, one thousand Dalek eyestalks raised heavenward. A second later, as the Doctor pressed a switch on his screwdriver, one thousand gun arms began to flicker with the first sparks of blue fire. The noise of the combined assault was deafening, and the ship shook violently under the force of a mighty salvo, sending Jack and River tumbling across the floor. Only the Doctor kept his footing, more through determination than anything else, one hand waving the screwdriver as the other danced its way across the controls. The two wires that he was holding sent out tendrils of green smoke, and his shirt cuff began to burn.

"Hold on tight!" he yelled, as another salvo struck the ship. A tongue of flame burst up from the floor, the console coughed as the Doctor's handiwork spat purple sparks – and then, quite suddenly, everything was silent. One thousand gun arms dropped. One thousand eyestalks lowered. Slowly, the assembled Daleks began to move away from their tools.

"What did you-?" began River, but she didn't finish the question. As her words died away, music burst forth from one of the Dalek saucers, loud and bright and breezy. Neither River nor Jack was an expert, but they thought that it was a waltz. Moments after that, one by one, the Daleks began to move. On the rocky ground, the dance was an awkward one, but with the single-minded determination of their kind, the creatures were doing as ordered. In perfect synchronisation they whirled about one another, following the rhythm of the music. The Doctor frowned critically, head slightly to one side.

"Ballroom-dancing Daleks," he said. "Probably not one of my better plans, if I'm brutally honest. It does have a certain something, though."

"How long will they do that for?" asked Jack, busy spraying fire extinguisher across the floor. As usual, the TARDIS's own systems were taking their time over reacting. Probably the ship was disinclined to bother when they were there. It would hardly surprise him.

"Until their energy reserves are depleted. Around two or three centuries, theoretically, if they're not disturbed."

"And we're going to leave them here?" asked River. The Doctor nodded.

"I don't see why not. They're harmless enough now. We should go down there and destroy their equipment, just to be on the safe side. I'll neutralise that rocket fuel too. They have no memory of their original plan, though, and as long as we hang around and make sure that no replacements get sent, I'd say this was job done."

"We'd better get down there, then." River reached over to set their landing in motion. "After all, I should hate to let anything get in the way of Jack ticking another species off his dance card."

"Who says I've never danced with a Dalek?" Having finally quenched the fire, Jack looked back to the screen. When he spoke again, there was a note of meaning in his voice that neither of his friends missed. "We've got quite a history together, them and me."

"Our history is what makes us interesting, Jack." For a moment their eyes met, the Doctor's young face very old indeed. Then he smiled. "Come on. I quite fancy a dance with a Dalek myself. Although, just to be clear, I never use that as a euphemism."

"I bet that's what you say to all the boys." Opening the door, River reached out for the Doctor's hand, then caught hold of Jack's as well. "Come on. This may be the silliest victory I shall ever win. I intend to enjoy it."

"Silly? There's hard core science going on here." The Doctor straightened his bow tie, looking faintly offended. "Computers, and telecommunications, and... stuff. And Jack blew up."

"Twice," interjected Jack, gesturing towards the blackened holes in his coat. "I'm starting to think you enjoy coming up with new ways to kill me."

"You enjoy it as much as he does," River hauled them both out through the doors. "Hurry up. We have work to do. Work and dancing."

"The non-euphemistic kind," reiterated the Doctor, with what he probably hoped was a stern glare. River laughed.

"Everything is a euphemism, Doctor." She tugged hard on their hands, swinging all three of them around in a rough approximation of the Dalek's stiff waltz. "Like any kind of truth, it all depends on your interpretation."

"You two are incorrigible. I ought to stop associating with the pair of you." He pulled free of her for long enough to survey the piles of grim-looking equipment. "Still, you do have your uses. Come on. Work to be done."

"Work and then dancing," agreed Jack, and taking up where River had left off, spun around with her in a dizzying whirl. The Doctor sighed.

"Put her down. Do I have to get fierce? No, on second thoughts, don't answer that."

"Spoilsport," teased River, then turned away to begin examining the gathered machinery. Jack bent to pick up a Dalek oxy-acetylene torch, and with apparent familiarity, kicked it into life.

"Time for a different sort of fun," he said, blue eyes brighter than ever as they reflected the powerful flame. "Just point me at what you want disassembled." The Doctor did so, turning his own attention to several giant tanks of volatile chemicals. A little sabotage, a little invention, and a weapon could soon become anything he desired. All it took was imagination, and a great deal of off-the-scale genius. There was nothing to it really. And, surrounded by a thousand waltzing Daleks, the three friends set to work.

 

The End


End file.
